


Lending a Hand

by Jaune_Chat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Forced Orgasm, HYDRA Trash Party, Hand Jobs, Hurt No Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Misuse of Medical Equipment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 12:49:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11081937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaune_Chat/pseuds/Jaune_Chat
Summary: When taking the Asset in for maintenance, Rumlow spies a diagnostic tool that could have multiple uses...





	Lending a Hand

**Author's Note:**

> For Arania's lovely piece of art, which can be found [HERE!](http://imgur.com/BhYLSvv)

“Get over here, now!” Rumlow yelled, the door crashing against the wall as he bulled it open. The Asset was nearly a dead weight on his right side, being supported by Rollins on the other, head lolling, almost totally out of it. Blood was running from gouge on the Asset’s temple where the bullet had grazed him, and the heavy metal arm slung around Rumlow’s shoulder had cracked plates and exposed wiring from where he’d struck the truck.

“What happened?!” the tech yelled, hustling down the hallway with three more behind him, one pushing a clattering cart with trays of tools, needles, and drugs.

“Damn extract team couldn’t do their fucking job,” Rollins snarled, both of them continuing to haul the Asset to the prep chamber, ignoring the flutter of the techs around the Asset as if they were flies.

“Didn’t do their damn sweeps properly, missed a spotter, and we had to blow our way out,” Rumlow said, shouldering open the door at the end of the hall and finally dropping the Asset in his chair. The techs scurried to get him clamped in, easiest they’d had the job for a while, as the Asset just laid there and bled, metal arm dead at his side. “Rollins, go round up the rest of those assholes, get them in detention.”

Rollins nodded choppily and left, leaving Rumlow to rub his stiff shoulder from having to lug the Asset a few klicks to their exfil vehicles. The techs swarmed the Asset, hosing him down, cleaning off the blood, examining the arm. To Rumlow’s interest, one of them pulled another chair over and sat it by the Asset’s right side. A second tech took a silvery sleeve and shoved it over the first tech’s left arm, connecting tubes from the sleeves to the chair. A third tech was plugging more tubes into the Asset’s damaged metal arm.

“We are live, check for damage,” the third tech said. Carefully the sleeved tech moved his arm up and down, bent the elbow, turned his hand over and back, going through a whole range of motion, one that was faithfully duplicated by the Asset’s metal limb. There was some stuttering, some jerkiness, and a few sparks from the depths.

Rumlow watched that with interest for a few minutes, particularly at the Asset’s dazed look as he regained consciousness. 

“Not as bad as it looks. Get the machinists down here to fix it. What happened to him?”

“A fucking truck,” Rumlow said, not wanting to get into details. The techs jumped back to working on the Asset, checking for damage, injecting him with saline and drugs, stapling shut what wouldn’t seal over in the next few minutes. The Asset had saved them a shit-ton of trouble when their exit plan had gone to hell, taking point on one of his alternate roof routes, then down scaffolding and across a dozen little twisty back alleys until they’d gotten back to their transports. Except that partway there one of the little blind alleys had puked up a damn truck coming from their blind side. The Asset had reacted faster than Rumlow would have believed, running a few paces forward and using his metal arm to deflect the truck just enough to avoid the rest of the team. The force of it bounced him off a wall as the white-faced driver had come to a screeching halt. Half a second later, and Rumlow was certain him and Rollins both would have been smashed to paste, and the rest of the team hurting if not dead. Rollins had the asshole out of the driver’s seat and into the next life before Rumlow hauled the Asset to his feet, and the rest of the team had piled in the back for a tense, bumpy, jolting ride to within a few klicks of their back-up vehicles.

That kind of fast action deserved a reward. Rumlow lingered as a pair of people with toolbelts crowded around the Asset, tucking in wires and resetting the plates. In an hour, they had everything done, and Rumlow watched with growing interest as one of the techs put on the sleeve again and ran the arm through another series of precise movements. Watching the smooth flow of the arm as the Asset was clamped in the chair, helpless, gave Rumlow an idea.

\--

The Asset was awake.

The techs had gone home, the lab was closed, and the Asset was lying there in the dark, still strapped to his chair. His metal arm was still hooked up to the diagnostic sleeve, sleek and silver and dead, but now repaired. No more loose wires or plates that had caught on Rumlow’s clothes the entire haul from the site. Thoughtfully, and wisely, the clamps around the Asset’s right arm, knees, and lower legs were secured.

The Asset looked up as the door opened, but didn’t do more than that. He was out of mission-mode, into the more docile pre-cryo programming. The techs were just waiting one night for him to heal up completely before they stuck him in the tube. Too much damage interfered with the process or some other crap.

Rumlow didn’t particularly care, other than the fact this gave him a chance at the arm without someone whining about calibration.

He slipped his arm into the sleeve, several screen flickering to life as the program automatically initiated. The glove and sleeve were thin and slick, almost silky, the fabric shining with circuitry and the range of movement only limited by the connecting wires. Rumlow moved his left arm experimentally, watching the gleaming metal in the next chair over.

The Asset looked straight ahead as his arm moved on its own, not paying any particular attention as it shifted up, down, fingers wriggling, then finally settled on his thigh in response to Rumlow’s movements. Through the glove, Rumlow could feel the heat of his own body easily, and could imagine the Asset’s cool hand starting to come up to temperature. 

He shifted in his own seat, a hot, dark thrill twisting around his spine. He ran his left hand over his chest, gratified to see the Asset blink a little more, glance down, looking vaguely curious. Rumlow shifted his hand over an inch, and pinched his own nipple with savage strength through his shirt, the sharp zing of pain and pleasure connecting straight to his cock. The Asset gasped involuntarily as the metal hand imitated the action, head rattling back against the chair, now staring at his left arm in confusion. His dick was still mostly limp, but Rumlow’s was tight against his pants, and he wasn’t going to wait for the Asset to catch up. 

The shining metal arm trailed down the center of the Asset’s chest, then ghosted over air as Rumlow quickly undid his belt and shoved his pants and underwear down around his knees. The chair rattled briefly as the arm tried to move more than the Asset’s restraints would allow, his muscles pulling against the metal straps, before subsiding as Rumlow leaned back. The Asset’s flesh was goose-pebbled with the unexpected movement, a slight tremor in his frame betraying confusion as Rumlow ran his hand down the center of his chest. The slick material of the glove felt good as he trailed down below the hem of his shirt, slowing down his movements even more as he curled his fingers around his cock. 

The Asset stifled a groan as Rumlow made one firm stroke, his own cock hardening between his metal fingers. The sight of the metal around the hard flesh sent a hard stab of lust through Rumlow, and he began to jack himself nice and fast, using his right hand to squirt a good dollop of lube filched from the tray on the action. The Asset’s expression turned from confusion to something like fear as his dick stiffened up even more, going darker red from Rumlow’s relentless pace. Rumlow was glad to see him and the Asset were of a size, which meant that the hard edges of those metal fingers had to be digging in and rubbing him raw. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Rumlow said, and grinned to see the Asset clench his flesh fingers into the arm of the chair in a futile gesture to slow down.

Rumlow could feel it, the hot pressure in his stomach and balls as he got close, and forced himself to slow again, making the Asset let out a whimper of agony as his shimmering fingers stilled with Rumlow’s hand. Rumlow gave himself a few short strokes, rubbing over the slit with his thumb, and the Asset made a choking noise as his dick finally started to leak a little clear precum. His face was flushed, cheeks flaming red, and his hips were twitching, though to try to disrupt the rhythm or chase it, Rumlow couldn’t tell.

Without warning, Rumlow sped up, letting the pressure build, chasing his orgasm, hand tight, then tighter against his flesh. The Asset was letting out a continuous string of “Ah, ah, ah!” sounding like they were being punched out of him, his metal hand looking downright brutal as his dick nearly turned purple. With something like a sob, the chair rattling as the Asset slammed against the restraints, cum spattered against his chest in long, powerful pulses. Rumlow groaned in satisfaction, chasing that last little bit he needed, going faster and faster until his vision whited out, cock spilling hot over his gloved hand, and sighed in satisfaction.

The Asset was breathing raggedly, and Rumlow lolled his head over to see the Asset’s face wet with sweat and tears, the metal hand loosely holding a raw and near-bleeding dick, somehow still hard. 

“Too sensitive?” Rumlow snorted, slipping his hand out of the sleeve and watching the metal arm fall limp at the Asset’s side. He looked at it a moment, wondering, then dismissed it. No way was he flexible enough to chance that without help, and besides, his time was almost up. Tucking himself back in, he pushed open the door.

“Your turn, Jack,” he said to Rollins, and walked back to the elevator past the rest of the team, a satisfied smirk on his lips.


End file.
